


Harvest Festival

by ras_elased



Category: SGA - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-06
Updated: 2007-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-11 13:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/112928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ras_elased/pseuds/ras_elased
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Uhm…I just sorta woke up with this in my head the other day. I have no idea where it came from. AU, and possibly the closest I'll ever get to writing AMTDI. Still not sure how pleased I am with this, it turned out different than how I originally envisioned it, and somehow strangely allegorical. Also, possibly the most OOC thing I've ever written. I don't know if I want to have this beta'd or not, but if I do, it's not gonna happen until I get back from vacation and I'm too impatient to wait two weeks to post this. I'll repost this again if I get it beta'd. Big thanks to <a href="http://general-jinjur.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://general-jinjur.livejournal.com/"><strong>general_jinjur</strong></a> for the speedy proofread.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Harvest Festival

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm…I just sorta woke up with this in my head the other day. I have no idea where it came from. AU, and possibly the closest I'll ever get to writing AMTDI. Still not sure how pleased I am with this, it turned out different than how I originally envisioned it, and somehow strangely allegorical. Also, possibly the most OOC thing I've ever written. I don't know if I want to have this beta'd or not, but if I do, it's not gonna happen until I get back from vacation and I'm too impatient to wait two weeks to post this. I'll repost this again if I get it beta'd. Big thanks to [](http://general-jinjur.livejournal.com/profile)[**general_jinjur**](http://general-jinjur.livejournal.com/) for the speedy proofread.

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

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[fic: harvest festival](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/fic%3A%20harvest%20festival), [genre: au](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20au), [genre: drama](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20drama), [genre: romance](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/genre%3A%20romance), [pairing: mcshep](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/pairing%3A%20mcshep), [rating: nc-17](http://ras-fic.livejournal.com/tag/rating%3A%20nc-17)  
  
  
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**Harvest Festival**   
_

Title: Harvest Festival

Author: Ras Elased

Rating: NC-17

Author's notes: Uhm…I just sorta woke up with this in my head the other day. I have no idea where it came from. AU, and possibly the closest I'll ever get to writing AMTDI. Still not sure how pleased I am with this, it turned out different than how I originally envisioned it, and somehow strangely allegorical. Also, possibly the most OOC thing I've ever written. I don't know if I want to have this beta'd or not, but if I do, it's not gonna happen until I get back from vacation and I'm too impatient to wait two weeks to post this. I'll repost this again if I get it beta'd. Big thanks to [](http://general-jinjur.livejournal.com/profile)[**general_jinjur**](http://general-jinjur.livejournal.com/) for the speedy proofread.

   


~~~

 

Rodney had been trained for his position from near infancy. He had excelled in his studies and been selected for the apprenticeship over candidates twice his age. Now, years later, Rodney held the second most powerful position in the village. There was no one else who could do what he did. That didn't make it any less meaningless.

 

Without the rituals he performed, Rodney knew the sun would still rise every morning, the rain would still fall, and the plants would still grow. The Wraith would still come. Not even Rodney could stop that. But the villagers had grown dependant on the rituals, on the comfort and structure they provided, and Rodney sometimes wondered if society would collapse without them. Sometimes he wondered if a society that idiotic deserved to survive. Sometimes he hated his job.

 

Today was one of those days. As Rodney washed his hands in the ceremonial basin, he thought about how John was lying naked on the other side of the curtain, waiting to be prepared, and he had to will himself not to get hard. He wasn't allowed to feel that way. John had won the tournament, using his skills as a temple guard to defeat ten other contenders vying for the honor of making the offering, and the rules were very specific. It was John's right to choose anyone in the village to participate in the offering—anyone except Rodney. Not that Rodney expected John would choose him, even if it didn't fly in the face of the rules governing the ritual. John was not the type of person to be impressed by Rodney's power and prestige. In fact, he seemed to take great pleasure in flaunting his lack of respect for the office he was sworn to protect. John was a puzzle, and in a society where Rodney was expected to have all the answers, he wasn't too ashamed to admit that a lot of the attraction he felt was because he simply wanted to figure John out.

 

Steeling himself, Rodney gathered his materials and pushed back the curtain to the inner sanctum. John was lying on his back on the soft rug on the floor, head pillowed in his hands, looking for all the world like he was asleep. It was only the faint twitch of his lips that gave him away. "Just because you sleep through my temple services every week doesn't mean you can sleep through this," Rodney snapped, kneeling down next to John. His knees were going to kill him tomorrow.

 

John had the audacity to stretch, then roll onto his side to face Rodney, his soft cock resting against his thigh. "Hey, just thought I could use some rest before tonight," he smirked, and Rodney wished he could attribute the spark in John's eyes entirely to the torchlight.

 

Rodney bit back a frustrated sigh. "Shut up and lie back down," he commanded. "This could take a while."

 

John rolled his eyes, but did as he was told, for once. Assuming the same pose that Rodney had walked in on, John said, "Do your thing, Rodney. I'm all yours." Taking in the sight of John's body spread out before him, golden skin and dark, thick hair, Rodney cursed the gods he didn't believe in and tried not to swallow audibly.

 

Rodney knew the ritual by heart. He'd been preparing men and women for the harvest offering every year for as long as he'd been the Temple Ritualist. This was one of their most sacred rituals, hence the high level of honor bestowed upon the winner of the tournament, as well as the extensive preparation ceremony. But this time Rodney had to remind himself how to begin. John had been given a day to heal from the injuries he'd sustained during the tournament, and Rodney had to verify that he wasn't in too much pain to perform the ceremony. John had a cut above his left eye and a gash just below his right hip, but the salve the doctor had given John seemed to be warding off any infections. Rodney applied a little more of the purple solution just for good measure, and he told himself it was the medicine in the ointment that made his fingers tingle, not the warmth of John's skin.

 

The ritual itself was threefold, to honor the past, present, and future harvests. Finding the necessary jars among his materials, Rodney opened first the jar of ash collected from last year's post-harvest burning of the cropland, then the jar containing a soft welosha branch harvested yesterday, soaked in the faintly spicy-smelling oil made from the small green fruit it produced. He dipped the leaves into the ash, then began painting it onto John's skin. He followed the contours of John's body, tracing the line of his neck, the jut of his shoulder blade, the arch of his hip, until John's entire body was covered in smears of black ash and trails of thick, yellow welosha oil that glistened in the torchlight. Taking a soft cloth, Rodney began slowly working the oil and ash into John's skin, symbolizing the absorption of the old harvest by the village.

 

Over the years, Rodney had seen just about every reaction to the preparation ceremony. Some people were stiff and nervous, others indifferent, but most found it as erotic as Rodney knew it was intended to be. John was no different, strangely quiet and pliant as Rodney worked. He allowed Rodney access to every part of his body, stretching out his arms, lifting his legs, and rolling onto his side so Rodney could rub the cloth over the muscles of John's back and, god, his ass. Rodney took more care than was necessary, hoping John didn't notice the way his fingers lingered at the base of John's spine. Through the cloth, Rodney could feel the slick oil combined with the slight grittiness of the ash as his hands glided over John's skin. By the time Rodney started working on John's chest, John was half hard and breathing heavily through his nose, leaning into Rodney's touch like he craved it. Rodney brushed over a nipple and John gasped, his cock twitching against his stomach. Rodney had to stubbornly resist the urge to press down harder, to twist the nub just a little, just to see what would happen.

 

Rodney pulled back, perhaps a bit too sharply for someone with as much experience as he had. He grabbed a clean cloth and tossed it down on John's chest. "Use that to wipe yourself off." Actually, Rodney was supposed to cleanse the oil, but he doubted John knew that. Besides, another few seconds of watching John grow hard at his touch and Rodney wouldn't be able to stave off the evidence of his own arousal.

 

John blinked at him glassily for a second, before his eyes began to clear and he took the cloth. Rodney turned his back to John, still kneeling as he took out a few earthen pots and began preparing for the next part of the ceremony. He tried to think down his burgeoning erection. After all, this certainly wasn't the first time that someone had been turned on by the ceremony. That's what it was _designed_ to do, to prepare someone for the offering. Just last year, when Evan Lorne had won the tournament, he'd spent the entire preparation ceremony moaning and whimpering nonsense words. Rodney's pride had been a little bruised when he eventually figured out the nonsense Evan kept mumbling was actually David Parrish's name. It hadn't been a shock when Evan had chosen David to share the offering ceremony, nor had anyone been surprised that the required one year had passed and they were still together.

 

Rodney tried not to wonder who John would pick. Speculation among the villagers was high, and everyone had a different guess. There were several rumors about Ronon, the wanderer that the village had taken in two years ago; Teyla, the Athosian refugee who had come to them after her world was wiped out by the Wraith; even the village leader, Elizabeth. The person didn't matter so much to Rodney. What concerned him was that he would have to watch John be with whomever he chose for a year, maybe more. John wasn't good with long-term relationships, or relationships in general, for that matter. Rodney couldn't help wondering how John would fare through the mandatory year he and the person he chose would have to spend together.

 

A soft puff of breath next to Rodney's ear made him jump. He turned to see that John had come up behind him and was watching him work. John's body was now mostly devoid of the oil and ash, and the cloth was slung over one shoulder. He still smelled like the welosha oil. "Whatcha doin'?" he asked, inquisitively peering over Rodney's shoulder.

 

Rodney narrowed his eyes, but answered him as he continued to work. "I'm mixing together clay and silt from the fields. It symbolizes strength, how the crops get their strength from the soil. It's supposed to encourage their roots to grow deep and strong."

 

John sat back on his heels and turned up one corner of his mouth in a wicked grin. "I like to encourage deep and strong." When Rodney nearly dropped his small pot, John bit his lip and let his smile morph into something else entirely. "So, you're going to put that wherever you think I'm strong?"

 

Rodney tried to ignore the way his stomach flipped at John's almost-shy duck of his head, the way his breath caught when John looked at him through his lashes. "Yes," he said, trying to infuse it with a snappishness he didn't feel. "And before you can say it, _yes_, I'm sure I have enough."

 

John's not-so-innocent smirk returned. "I wasn't going to say anything."

 

"Of course you weren't," Rodney replied. "Now go over there and lie back down."

 

John slid the cloth from his shoulder and tossed it away, and Rodney watched in fascination as John got down on his hands and knees and actually _crawled_ the few feet back to the mat. John flopped himself down on his back, and Rodney was surprised to note that John's erection hadn't waned. In fact, he was fully hard, his cock thick and flushed with blood, standing out proudly against his belly. Rodney fleetingly wondered what it would feel like in his hand, in his mouth, but John's cock was the one place on his body Rodney wasn't allowed to touch.

 

John turned to see that Rodney hadn't moved. Rodney knew he was staring dumbly back, but god, he couldn't help it. Instead of calling Rodney on his inappropriate behavior, John just reached out one hand to Rodney and said, "Hey, come over here." It was John's smile more than his words that propelled Rodney into motion.

 

Rodney knelt behind John's head and made John sit up. He dipped one finger into the mud mixture, then began drawing straight, parallel lines on the backs of John's shoulders, simulating the lines of a plowed field. John let out a small sigh, then wrapped his arms around his knees and rested his forehead against his clasped hands, leaning over slightly to give Rodney better access. The movement made the muscles at the tops of John's shoulders bunch and shift, and Rodney found himself mesmerized by them, the same as he had been while watching John fight during the tournament. Rodney continued the lines up over the tops of John's shoulders, stopping just before he reached John's collarbones.

 

"Don't move," he said quietly, before shifting to John's right side. He began tracing lines over John's bicep, smiling and rolling his eyes to himself when he felt John flex the muscle under his touch. The lines turned into bands encircling John's upper arm, and with a barely shaking hand Rodney moved on to John's thigh. He still wouldn't let John move, didn't think he could stand to look at John's face as he made that first tentative circle around John's leg, just above his knee. The next ring was a little higher, just a finger's width apart, as was the one after that. Rodney continued tracing bands up John's thigh, feeling the strong muscle flex under warm skin, but it wasn't until he heard John suck in a harsh breath that he snapped out of his single-minded focus on the ritual. He listened to John gasp each time Rodney trailed a cool line of mud over the soft skin of John's inner thigh, and he imagined what it must look like to John, Rodney snaking his hand under John's knee and in between his legs, edging closer and closer to his groin. When Rodney finally forced himself to stop, just inches from where John's thigh joined the rest of his body and well past where Rodney could have gone in good faith, John's hands were clasped together with white knuckles. Rodney moved to John's other side and repeated the process on both John's arm and thigh, inch by torturously slow inch. By the time he was done John was letting out small, involuntary whimpers at each touch, practically vibrating with the effort of holding still.

 

Rodney was dangerously skirting the line between preparation and seduction, but he couldn't bring himself to pull back. John's responsiveness was making him crazy. He'd wanted John for so long, and if this was the closest he'd ever get to having him, Rodney wanted to make it an experience neither of them would ever forget.

 

Rodney placed one hand on John's lower back, making him gasp and arch at the surprise touch. Rodney left his hand there, keeping John sitting up straight. Perfect. With his other hand, Rodney began tracing horizontal lines across the muscles of John's stomach. John let his head fall back, long line of his neck exposed, mouth open and panting. John's cock had been resting against his belly, and Rodney felt the slick warmth of John's pre-come mix with the cool mud as he continued to paint lines against John's skin. Each line crept lower and lower on John's abdomen, but Rodney couldn't go much lower than just past John's navel without arousing suspicions. Reluctantly, he pulled his hand away from the small of John's back. John instantly collapsed onto the mat, as if Rodney's hand had been the only thing keeping him upright. He panted and writhed and looked utterly debauched, as if he'd just had the single most erotic experience of his life. Rodney thought that if John looked this beautiful now, he'd be blindingly gorgeous when he came.

 

Before he could think better of it, Rodney traced four quick lines in the middle of John's chest. John smiled up at him curiously and said between heaving breaths, "You think my breastbone is strong?"

 

Rodney struggled to meet John's eyes. "Not exactly." John furrowed his brow in confusion, and as Rodney watched, he saw realization slowly dawn. Because whether Rodney believed in them or not, John had the strongest soul of anyone Rodney had ever met.

 

Eyes wide, John started to sit up. "Rodney—" he began, but Rodney instantly cut him off.

 

"I have to go get ready for the next part of the ceremony," he said, hastily standing. He took a moment to compose himself as he gathered the last of his materials, a vial of dye and a tiny brush. This was the hardest part of the ritual, and the only thing that his teacher had ever criticized him for, saying he lacked the patience and artistic skill necessary to excel at the task. Masking a deep sigh, Rodney turned to face John, and found him once again lying on his back, eyes closed. But this time, there was no mistaking him for asleep. Aside from his still rock hard cock, nearly every muscle in his body was tense, and Rodney could see his jaw muscles twitch as he rhythmically clenched his jaw. He was obviously still mulling over Rodney's actions, but Rodney couldn't figure out why his admission would affect John this way. "John," he said, "Relax."

 

He watched John force his muscles to become loose, but his jaw was still tight. Figuring that was the best he could get for now, Rodney let it go. He dipped the brush into the ink and began painting leafy vines over John's skin, starting at his collarbone. He focused on the task with pinpoint precision, trying to make the tip of the brush move in the intricate patterns he envisioned. The vines symbolized the future harvest, and the more complex and detailed the pattern, the more pleased the harvest goddess would be with the offering, and the more likely she would be to grant a plentiful harvest. Needless to say, according to his old teacher, Rodney's paintings rarely pleased the goddess.

 

But this time, Rodney felt uniquely inspired. He knew it would be considered blasphemous by some, but he drew on his desire to honor John, not the goddess. He let the brush lick over John's skin in a gentle caress, watching as the rich green ink was instantly absorbed into John's skin. The ink was also made from the welosha plant and would fade in a few days, but for the time being Rodney considered each leaf a brand, as if Rodney were staking a claim to each part of John that the brush touched, even if such a claim was forbidden.

 

The first vine snaked over John's collarbone then twined down his arm. The wet brush cut easily through the mud patterns Rodney had drawn there earlier, creating a continuous vine that curled in a spiral around John's bicep, over the inside of his elbow, and down over the soft veins of his wrist. Rodney held John's hand palm up in his own, tucking his thumb alongside John's to hold his hand steady. The brush tip traced a line down the crease of John's palm, delicate brush strokes adding elegant leaves, a hint of ticklish pressure and then gone. The vine branched in the center of John's palm, extending in minute detail along the insides of each finger and twisting around his thumb. By the time Rodney had drawn the last curling tendril on the pad of John's thumb, John seemed infinitely more relaxed, though Rodney noticed John's entire body had broken out in gooseflesh.

 

John sighed softly as Rodney turned him onto his side and began to work on the second vine. It branched from the vine at John's collarbone and traveled down his chest. A leafy tendril curled around John's nipple, eliciting a low moan as the soft bristles of Rodney's brush worked near the sensitive flesh. The larger vine continued down the side of John's ribs, branching again once it reached his hip. One branch followed the sharp jut of John's hip bone, while the other followed the curve of his ass. Not willing to torture either of them again with a detour to the inside of John's thigh, Rodney painted the vine over the side and front of John's thigh, finally letting it curl behind his knee and around his calf, ending in a leafy flourish along the sole of John's foot.

 

Each brush stroke seemed to seep some of the tension from John's body. The vines had taken Rodney over an hour to paint, and by the time Rodney realized he would need more ink to mirror the pattern on John's other side, John was so relaxed he was almost – dare Rodney think it – post-coital. Even his cock, which had stayed hard for an impressively long time, was beginning to soften. As Rodney stood, he chuckled to himself and said, "John, I know what I said before, but if you want to go to sleep, go ahead." John just sighed contentedly, and Rodney quickly stepped past the curtain to find another vial of ink. After a few moments of searching he returned, vial in hand, to find John lazily stroking his cock. Rodney's own waning erection sprang back to full mast at the sight, and he had to close his eyes and recite the five banishable offenses before he felt in control enough to walk across the room and peel John's hand from his cock. "You know you're not supposed to do that until the ceremony, idiot," he complained, no real bite in his voice.

 

"Feels good," John pouted. Rodney just rolled his eyes. If he didn't know better, he'd think John had been drugged. But apparently a day of being pampered by the villagers followed by Rodney's ministrations had simply given John a pleasurable buzz.

 

"Well, save it for the big show. You can feel good here, just not, you know, _that_ good."

 

"Tease," John murmured, then curled onto his side and offered up his hand for Rodney to continue painting—the same hand he'd just had on his cock. Rodney took it, trying to focus on the brush strokes instead of the calluses on John's fingers.

 

The second set of vines went a little faster, and Rodney was just finishing up the bottom of John's other foot when John stretched, arching his back as he mumbled sleepily, "Did you paint any flowers? I like flowers."

 

Rodney hastily stifled a snort, and said, "I suppose I should be more surprised by that than I am." Examining the side of John's neck with a critical eye, Rodney leaned over him and reached out to cup his jaw on the opposite side, intending to steady himself as he worked. Sleepy John was apparently a cuddler, because he immediately began nuzzling into Rodney's hand, turning his head and exposing more of his throat to Rodney's brush strokes. Rodney started another leafy vine just to the side of John's Adam's apple, and added in one of the tiny white flowers of the welosha plant. Then he trailed the rest of the vine down along the side of John's neck as far as he could reach. When it became clear he needed a change of angle, he said quietly, "John, I need you to turn over."

 

John complied with a sleepy groan, pillowing his head on his forearms. Rodney straddled John's hips, carefully hovering over John's body, not wanting John to feel the obvious hardness of his own cock. Rodney continued painting the vine down John's back, slowly drawing the brush over John's spine. When he reached the small of John's back, Rodney let the vine blossom into a small handful of welosha flowers. He blew gently on the ink, hoping it would dry faster, and John's entire body shuddered beneath him. "God, Rodney," John moaned, his voice thick and heavy. At the sound of John's voice, Rodney had to press the heel of his hand to his dick, trying to find just a moment of relief.

 

"We're almost done," Rodney finally said, surprised at the huskiness of his own voice. He moved to kneel at John's side. They'd reached the point that Rodney had been dreading all night, but it was unavoidable. "There's just one more thing." John rolled to his back and looked up at him, curious. Rodney tried to calm his fidgeting hands, took a deep breath, then asked, "Will you be choosing a man or a woman?"

 

John's gaze crystallized, and he said with unmistakable clarity, "Man."

 

Rodney just nodded, then went to retrieve the remainder of the welosha oil. Rodney had been both fearing and hoping for that answer, because if John had chosen a woman, there would be no need for this final step of the preparation. And Rodney was terrified that after tonight, after he'd had John in almost every way but the way he wanted, it would ruin him. But if this was the only way he could have John, he'd take it in a heartbeat.

 

When Rodney turned back to John, he found him with his legs already spread, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. Rodney knew there was no masking the way that look affected him, and it was too late at this point anyway. He knelt between John's legs, molding one hand to the shape of John's hip, thumb resting alongside the painted vine. Rodney felt like he was going to break apart under John's gaze, and he'd barely even touched him yet. Of course, that was exactly the problem. Rodney wanted to touch John everywhere, to feel him arch and moan under Rodney's hands, to watch his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. Instead, Rodney could only rub his thumb over the smooth skin of John's hip. "Relax," he whispered, as much to himself as to John.

 

Rodney's hands were barely trembling as he made the first tentative, slick touch over John's hole. John threw his head back, neck arching in a long, loud moan that went straight to Rodney's cock. Gritting his teeth against the flare of desire that erupted in his chest, Rodney continued rubbing oil-slick fingertips over John's entrance, teasing him. John bucked against his fingers, but Rodney refused to up the pace. If this was all the time he had with John, he wanted to make it last.

 

Another teasing circle around John's entrance, then Rodney slowly pressed the tip of his finger inside. John opened his mouth in a silent gasp, and Rodney felt encouraged enough to ease his finger in up to the last knuckle. Rodney gently began thrusting his finger in and out of John's body in small, slow movements. Rodney watched John's throat work as he fought unsuccessfully to swallow down the breathy whimpers rising in his chest. When John's hand latched onto Rodney's left wrist and peeled his hand from John's hip, Rodney was so startled he began to pull back. "What? Am I hurting you?"

 

"No. 'S good," John sighed, licking his lips. He turned Rodney's hand in his, pressing their palms together, fingers sliding past each other. "More?"

 

Rodney was too caught up in their entwined hands to answer. John's thumb lightly stroked Rodney's, feeling dangerously illicit. When Rodney finally registered what John wanted, he was eager to give it to him. Rodney coated two fingers with more oil then slid them into John, feeling John's hand tighten its grip on his. John sucked in a breath as his body stretched to accommodate Rodney's fingers, and Rodney began moving his fingers just as slowly as before. Rodney watched tiny pinpricks of sweat break out on John's face and chest, the insides of his elbows, the hollow between his collarbones.

 

Rodney scissored his fingers, spreading the oil, feeling the soft give of John's muscles as he stretched John open.

John gave himself over to Rodney's touch, writhing and moaning in response to even the smallest movement of Rodney's fingers. It felt amazing, and a little scary, to have this kind of power over John. Rodney wondered how close to the edge he could bring John before he sent John out into the temple, where someone else would complete the job. Rodney didn't think he'd ever been more jealous of anyone in his life. Irrationally, he'd begun to think of John as his. John had given his body to Rodney for the last three hours, and Rodney had accepted it as the gift it was, caressed it, cherished it, and now he didn't want to give it back. He wanted to keep John, to hear his name on John's lips as he came, to kiss his mouth and his neck and to feel John wrap his arms around Rodney's shoulders like he'd never, ever let go.

 

Rodney added a third finger, and John made a sound like a sob in the back of his throat. Their sweaty palms slid together, gripping each other like it would hurt to lose that connection. John began moving, helplessly thrusting his hips down on Rodney's fingers, and Rodney let him. John was beautiful, achingly hard and fucking himself on Rodney's fingers, moaning like every rock of his hips took him one step closer to ecstasy.

 

Rodney knew he wasn't allowed to give John any pleasure besides the simple preparation, but the want was thick in Rodney's veins. When he felt the soft bulge of John's prostate, he had to press his fingertips against it, just once. Lightly, so maybe he could pass it off as an accident. John's hips bucked up off the mat with a sharp cry and his hand tightened almost painfully around Rodney's. John's eyes were squeezed shut as he babbled between breaths, "Rodney, please…again…oh, god…Rodney…"

 

Rodney closed his eyes, and in a move that seemed to tear Rodney in two, he pulled his fingers from John's body. "I can't," he said, willing his voice not to crack.

 

John instantly began trying to pull Rodney back to him. "What? No, Rodney, don't…don't stop. Don't leave. _Please_."

 

But Rodney just wrenched his hand free of John's white-knuckled grip. He felt like he'd left a part of himself inside John, like he'd never be whole again. "I can't," he repeated. "You're ready. I…You have to go perform the ceremony."

 

"Rodney," John pleaded weakly. His eyes were shut tight, squeezing drops of moisture from the corners. Every instinct in Rodney's body told him to go back, to lie down next to John and kiss his eyelids and touch his cock and make him come over and over again, until John didn't know anything but Rodney's hands and lips and heart.

 

Instead, Rodney turned on his heel, pushed back the curtain, and headed for the Temple Arena.

 

~~~

 

The arena was nearly overflowing with people, and Rodney knew the entire village was waiting anxiously for the ceremony to start. The offering ceremony wasn't the only sex ritual of the year, but it was the only one that was public. The harvest festival was the most sacred event in their society, and as such it needed to be shared with the whole village. Only children were allowed to stay home, and a person's first view of the offering was considered a rite of passage into adulthood. Looking around at the hundreds of faces, Rodney saw that nearly everyone was dressed up and looking his or her best. Rodney suspected they all hoped John would pick them.

 

He went through the motions, waving incense around the large pillowed dais in the middle of the arena and asking the goddess to bless the offering and grant them a fertile harvest. Then John was brought out, wearing a green silk robe that matched his eyes, and Rodney tried not to stare at the vine that crept up the side of John's neck.

 

Almost immediately, the cloth fell to the floor. There were hushed gasps from the crowd, either because John had disrobed much sooner than he really needed to or because they were getting their first look at the paintings covering John's body. The vines climbed John's body like a living trellis, more intricate than anything even Rodney had thought himself capable of. John crossed the arena and came to kneel in front of the dais, hard and waiting, right at Rodney's feet. Rodney clenched his jaw for a moment, then said the most difficult words of his life. "John, have you decided who you would like to join you in the offering to the harvest goddess?"

 

John looked unblinkingly up at Rodney, eyes wide and green, and the crowd held their breath in anticipation. "Yes," he finally answered. "You."

 

There was a collective gasp from the crowd, and Rodney's incense fell to the floor. He turned to see hundreds of shocked faces and moved to take a step back, but John grabbed his hand and anchored him. "Don't look at them, look at me," he said, his voice a command. "Rodney, I…" John started, but the rest of his words seemed to stick in his throat. He looked away from Rodney, suddenly uncertain, and rubbed his thumb over the palm of Rodney's hand. Rodney followed his gaze and realized John's sweat had transferred some of the ink to Rodney's palm, and John was tracing the faint pattern of the vines with his thumb. When he met Rodney's gaze again, John looked terrified and defiant, like Rodney's answer was the only thing that mattered, like it didn't matter that he'd just asked Rodney to do the impossible. "Don't think about it. Just say yes," John whispered.

 

Rodney wanted to say this was crazy, and dangerous, and quite possibly the worst idea he'd ever heard. There was no way the villagers would stand for this. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was, "Yes," and John's smile lit up the entire arena.

 

The shocked whispers from the crowd began to grow into a steady roar, but Rodney just watched as John climbed slowly onto the dais, eyes smoldering, holding the promise of something it seemed they'd both been wanting for so long. It was Elizabeth's hand on his shoulder that finally brought Rodney back to reality. He had a protest ready on his lips, but Elizabeth just picked up his incense, consecrated his brow with a smudge of oil and kissed his cheek in blessing, and Rodney felt such a surge of gratefulness that his throat closed up. She turned back to the crowd, said something to calm them, but Rodney was already ignoring them again. Rodney disrobed and slowly climbed onto the dais, kneeling between John's legs. He leaned over John, weight supported on his hands, then paused to hover just a few inches away. Rodney hung there as if suspended in time, reverently taking in John's body, his face, unable to believe this was his.

 

John looked up at Rodney, lips parted, _so close_, but Rodney was powerless to close the gap between them. He knew his eyes were wide, that he must look terrified. John smiled and came to his rescue, cupping Rodney's face and pulling him down for a gentle, chaste kiss. Rodney's eyes fluttered closed as their lips met. John's mouth was velvety soft, moving against Rodney's tenderly, and Rodney felt himself melt into the cradle of John's body.

 

Rodney's skin was instantly flushed with heat. It seemed to climb from everywhere their bodies touched, licked up Rodney's spine and breathed fire into their kiss. Rodney pressed his mouth down hard against John's, pushed his tongue past John's lips. John opened up to accept him, arched into him, pushed with his hips until their cocks brushed together and Rodney's breath exploded from his chest. Rodney buried his face against John's neck and breathed him in, smelled the oil and ash and sweat of John's skin. He smelled like sex and strength and Rodney had to taste. He latched his mouth to the vine on John's neck, and John groaned and dug his nails into Rodney's back while salt and spice flooded Rodney's tongue.

 

After that Rodney couldn't get enough. His hands roamed every inch of John's body, followed the path of every vine. He scratched his fingernails through John's chest hair, over his nipples. He sucked each nub into his mouth, working them until they were so sensitive that John was whimpering and pulling at Rodney's hair. He dragged Rodney back up and kissed him, making demanding, needy little noises into Rodney's mouth.

 

John held Rodney close and panted roughly as he spoke. "God, Rodney, I can't…I can't wait anymore. Stop teasing and just fuck me. _Please_." The last word was keened into Rodney's neck as John's arms tightened around his shoulders.

 

"Yes. Yes, okay," Rodney answered, and John fell limp onto the pillows in relief. John let his legs fall apart, spreading himself out for Rodney. His cock was thick and dark, dripping precome where it twitched against his stomach. Rodney was just as hard and just as wet, and he rubbed his thumb over the head to slick up his cock. He pressed the tip to John's entrance, spent half a second poised on the edge of the precipice, then pushed his way inside.

 

John was slick and tight, squeezing Rodney's length with a soft warmth that made Rodney's breath stutter in his chest. John locked his ankles behind Rodney's back, displaying the vines Rodney had painted on the soles of John's feet. Rodney wanted to make John's toes curl around those vines. He began rocking his hips into John, slowly at first, but all John had to do was clench once around Rodney's cock and he had no choice but to give in to John's demand for _harder, faster, now_.

 

His pace reached a crescendo as he grabbed John's hips and lifted him up off the dais. John pulled at one of the pillows and shoved it under his hips as Rodney bucked into him, each thrust hitting John with just a little more power behind it, but never too rough. He wanted John to feel every thrust, to make each push into John's body feel more pleasurable than the last. By the way John was arching and thrusting back to meet him, Rodney considered it a success.

 

John grunted softly each time they moved together, but when Rodney adjusted his angle John's grunts took on a desperate edge and Rodney knew he was hitting John's prostate just right. "Rodney, touch me," John said, his voice barely a whisper. "I need—" John cut himself off with a harsh cry, because it had taken Rodney less than a second to wrap his hand around John's cock. He took a moment to savor it, the feel of John's blood pulsing under the velvety, tight skin, and then he began to stroke John in time with his movements.

 

John came undone. Every fiber of muscle seemed to tense at once, John's mouth opened in a loud, low moan and his cock spurted thick, warm fluid all over their chests. Rodney's breath caught, and he struggled to keep his eyes open as his own orgasm crashed over him in deafening white waves. The sight of John as he came was even more blindingly gorgeous than Rodney had anticipated.

 

He watched John tremble through his aftershocks, basking in the sight of John, sated and messy and beautiful. When John's eyes began to clear, he grinned lazily up at Rodney and pulled him down for a sloppy kiss. Distantly, Rodney heard the crowd give a cheer.

 

"Well, that sounds…promising," Rodney muttered into John's collarbone. "At least it sounds like they're unlikely to chase us out of town at spear-point."

 

John chuckled into Rodney's hair. "I'd say the gods were pretty damn pleased with our performance, too." His fingers curled around the back of Rodney's neck. "If not, we've got a year to convince them otherwise. And if it takes longer than that…" Rodney felt John shrug, and his chest inexplicably flooded with warmth. "By the way—not that the whole four hours of sex thing wasn't, well, pretty damn spectacular—but sometimes I like it hard and fast. Just for future reference."

 

Rodney choked on air. "God, you're trying to kill me aren't you?" The villagers were all moving out, shuffling their feet on their way to burn the harvested fields. And while the villagers were clearing away the left over stalks with cleansing fire, Rodney would perform the cleansing ritual for John, symbolizing a new beginning, a fresh start. Then Rodney would consecrate the fields, collecting the ash for next year's harvest festival. "You can't kill me," he stated matter-of-factly. "There's no one to take my place. Society as we know it would grind to a halt."

 

John huffed a sleepy laugh, then rolled Rodney onto his side and practically draped himself over Rodney. He threw an arm and a leg over Rodney's body, and Rodney decided he was correct in his earlier assumption. Sleepy John was definitely a cuddler. "Oh, I dunno," John sighed into Rodney's shoulder. "I think we did a pretty good job of shaking things up, and everyone seemed okay. They might actually survive without you."

Rodney opened his mouth to voice a scathing protest at that, but then he paused. John had a point. This whole thing may have been crazy and reckless, but he'd managed to move society forward in ways Rodney hadn't thought possible. "Hmm," he said, contemplating the possibilities. Who knew what a year could bring? Maybe Rodney would finally be allowed to study some of the Ancient artifacts of the Temple, to understand their true purpose. Maybe the village could learn to live without the static comfort of rules and rituals to govern their lives. If nothing else, society was about to be turned on its head.

 

With a smile, Rodney pulled John into a drowsy, happy kiss. If the villagers could learn to live with the possibility of the unfamiliar and the unknown, then maybe Rodney could too.

 

 


End file.
